


Captive

by allthesins (birdsofclay)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Breeding, F/M, Good people doing bad things, JUST, Post neutral ending, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader doesn't want this, Sans doesn't want this, also I wrote this as an excuse for writing smut, because i am a horrible person, but slow-building smut, don't really know much about kinks, it's gonna be a while before Sans actually gets it in, masturbation kink?, nobody wants this, or an attempt at breeding anyway, serious psychological horror, so shameless smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 11:39:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7756336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofclay/pseuds/allthesins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Frisk left the Underground, all of the Human Souls disappeared with them. With Asgore and Toriel dead, Undyne became queen. </p>
<p>Now, a Ninth Human has fallen, and Monsters don't want to wait. They want another six Souls, and soon.</p>
<p>[Or, the horrible fic where Sans is essentially forced to breed with a human.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I know that this story is awful, and I don't care.
> 
> Please be over the age of 18 when reading this.
> 
> Also, if anyone has any more ideas/suggestions for guilty sin... I'm trying to learn to write porn by essentially just writing the worst porn possible, thanks.

After they had locked you in here, it was as if you'd ceased being a person.

 

They never spoke to you anymore. The room they had locked you in was nice enough, but nobody spoke more than three words to you anymore and the loneliness was driving you insane.

 

You should have known it was a bad sign. Only the lizard monster ever talked to you and all she ever gave was directions. “S-sit h-here”, “drink t-th-this”. You should have known it was a bad sign that everyone you came into contact with in this room refused to look at you, not a single person was friendly and so of them had even looked....

 

Guilty. Some had looked guilty. You should have known this was a bad sign, but they hadn't killed you yet. And what else could they have been planning?

 

They had planned worse. You hadn't known it at the time, but the monsters had planned so much worse.

 

 

 

You had been hurt, at first, when you fell down Mount Ebott. You had broken some bones and thought you would die there. When the monsters came, you had been afraid. But what else was there to do but to follow them to the empty Ruins?

 

The monsters healed you. They had been so kind to you, at first, inside the Ruins. It wasn't until you had left them that they had captured you and locked you in here. From what you had been told, the Queen had lived in the Ruins before a human killed her. You thought maybe that was part of the reason why you were now locked in here: maybe they wanted to make sure you were safe?

 

The days passed, but no one questioned you. You tried to make yourself seem as harmless as possible. Kindness, after all, was a gift you treasured. You didn't want to hurt anybody, and in turn you hoped that no one hurt you.

 

And nobody did hurt you. They hadn't captured you for that.

 

 

 

You should have known something was _horribly wrong_ when the lizard monster started examining you.

 

She often took your temperature. Measurements. Drew blood samples a couple of times. Everything seemed to point to being a doctor, of some sorts, so when she asked you to...

 

“S-strip...,” she sounded extremely uncomfortable saying it, looking away from you more pointedly than usual. “Um... p-please.”

 

You felt a rush of fear and adrenaline at the words but you didn't seem to have a choice in the matter. She was one of the few who ever came in here and fed you. And she was probably a physician, or something like it... Or so you hoped.

 

You stripped.

 

And tried not to think of how humiliating it was to be completely exposed to a stranger like this.

 

The lizard monster got a little chatty, then, more than she had ever been around you. It was clear to you that she was as nervous as uncomfortable as you were, with the way she spoke. And maybe she was trying to ease the tension as she spoke, but you _listened_...

 

She started by touching your shoulders through the thick layer of latex gloves. “I-I n-need to check... H-have to m-make sure there's a-an actual s-skeleton in y-you...”

 

Um. What?

 

You didn't bother to try to talk to her, despite your throat feeling almost numb from disuse. Every single time you tried to talk to these people, you were just ignored anyway. So, instead, you listened.

 

You stayed silent as the monster doctor took more measurements, checked your heartbeat, standard stuff...

 

But then—

 

“Y-You're f-f-female, aren't y-you? Um. I c-can see th-that... I-I m-mean!!! N-Not t-that I was... Not-that-I-was-looking-or-anything!!! Oh gosh... S-Sorry. I-I'm the Royal S-Scientist, I'm... S-Supposed to ch-check. J-Just... I-don't-need-to-check-anymore-so-you-can-put-your-clothes-on!”  
  
You started putting on your clothes as fast as you could, and you almost missed it. “H-how... H-How old are y-you, a-anyway? T-teens? T-twenties?” You didn't answer. You didn't have to. The monster just kept talking, rambling almost. “R-Reproductive age, a-at l-least... Th-That's all w-we n-need, r-really... Oh gosh...”—she muttered—“I c-can't b-believe we're d-doing th-this...”  
  
Your blood ran cold.

 

Doing _what?_

 

Your voice was hoarse when you spoke, and frightened. You almost didn't recognize yourself. “W-What are you going to do with me?”

 

And that seemed to have broken something. You'd spoken words. The lizard monster's mask was back on. “F-five thirty. F-food in half an h-hour.”

 

You should have known something was horribly wrong.

 

You started to suspect it.

 

 

 

Several days or weeks after your physical, you heard the racket.

 

Screaming. Angry yells. And it was coming closer and closer, the noise of shouting and begging.

 

“S-Sans! You c-can't go b-back there!”

 

You recognized the voice of the lizard monster, but there was a second, _furious_ voice so enraged that it sent a chill down your spine.

 

“like _hell_ i can't, alphys!” the male voice was low, almost a growl. “you were about to send my brother!”  
  
“U-Undyne d-decided... She's the q-queen...”  
  
“i don't care if undyne turns out to be god of underground, **i won't let you do that to papyrus**. i'll kill the human myself if i have to.”  
  
“You c-can't!!! I-I'll c-call th-the guards. Undyne d-decided. That's t-too much power for a-anyone...”

 

“so you decide to try to breed the human, 'til you get seven?”—your heart dropped in horror, bile rising in your throat—“do you know **how sick that is** , and to choose _papyrus_ —”  
  
“H-Humans m-may have evolved fr-from s-skeletons! It's-s our only ch-chance... W-We c-can't wait m-much l-longer, e-everyone's l-loosing h-hope...”  
  
“ **you're not doing this to papyrus!** ”  
  
“ _P-Please, Sans..._ I c-can't let you k-kill her. T-Think of your b-brother... W-What would h-he s-say if you w-went b-behind Undyne a-and ab-bsorbed the s-soul?”

 

Silence. Terrifying silence. You strained your ears from your enclosure, your trap.

 

They were planning to b r e e d you. With... _Monsters?_ You wanted to throw up. These people were sick, you had to run...

 

The small, up until now moderately comfortable bed in your small room now felt ominous.

 

You were so close to crying, already hyperventilating when you heard the male voice speak with now considerably less volume.

 

“if you need more humans, you can try. but _not papyrus._

 

“tell undyne i'll do it myself.”

 


	2. First sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of smut. This is going to be a slow build-up to the "real" thing, yo.
> 
> Also, sorry for any typos. I can't really bring myself to edit this thing. >///

You collapsed, twice, defeated by exhaustion in between your desperate attempts to escape.

 

You assumed that meant at least two days had passed. Maybe more. You didn't have a way to track the time, or windows.

 

After you overheard the monsters' plans for you, almost all of your waking hours had been consumed by your attempts to escape. You had grown increasingly desperate—screaming, sobbing—trying anything from breaking the door to digging your way out through the cold, hard tiled floor to... Anything. Just anything. Even death was preferable to this. You had even tried not eating, starving yourself...

 

You had skipped two meals before the guilty-looking lizard monster had threatened to keep you alive via feeding tubes. (“E-eat... or w-we will m-make you.”)

 

Two days had passed, or at least two days. You were growing more and more desperate. You thought of killing yourself, looking for and failing to find ways to do so. You thought of... Hurting your captors, trying to fight your way out of there, run during the brief second the door was open...

 

The new monster found you, pacing, as you desperately tried to convince yourself that hurting the lizard monster was the only course of action left if you wanted to free yourself by escape or death.

 

 

 

He hadn't wanted to show. He didn't want to be anywhere near you. But it would have been him or Papyrus, in this sick attempt to free Monsters before everyone lost hope. And Sans would have done anything for his brother.

 

A cynical, twisted part of him wondered if Undyne hadn't planned for Sans to be the one to try to breed the human from the start. After all, Papyrus was the kindest, most sympathetic of monsters. There was no way that he would have gone through with meeting you and violating you like this, especially without trying to free you. And as far as kings and queens went, Undyne was proving to be far bolder and more brutal than Asgore had been.

 

He felt disgusted as he opened the door to your room and felt even worse when his eye sockets landed on you.

 

There was no doubt that you were human. Your soul shone bright, despite being encased in soft flesh. And guilt pooled deep within him when he instantly noticed how vulnerable you looked, how fragile.

 

You kind of reminded him of Frisk.

 

He was supposed to force himself on you.

 

There was a panic in your eyes as you froze and stared at him, face tired with exhaustion and sleep deprivation mixed with a settled horror. He remembered the rules clearly, set in place to make this whole thing easier for people like him to do this to you—

 

Don't chat with you.

 

Don't stare at you.

 

 _Don't_ be friendly.

 

“don't look at me,” he told you, voice deep yet devoid of expression, and for a moment you couldn't bring yourself to comply.

 

He was a monster. He could hurt you easily, with magic or not. You weren't exactly strong and, while he was barely a few inches taller than you, this particular monster was _much_ broader than you was.

 

But he was... He was _a living skeleton_. His voice matched the voice that had almost barged into your prison, threatening to kill you. Was _this_ the thing they were going to rape you with?

 

You didn't know whether to scream or cry.

 

His voice snapped you from your shocked horror, sterner now and harsher when you couldn't stop staring.

 

“i said **don't look at me**.”

 

Your quickly snapped your head to look down, forcing yourself to stare at the tile you had been trying to break through just a few hours (minutes?) prior. Your fingers still hurt from the attempt, and you tried to focus on that instead of your increased heartbeat. That had been a big mistake, not obeying immediately. Maybe if you complied now, he would hurt you less, and after he was done...

 

After he was done... _raping_ you... _if_ a skeleton like him could even physically rape you... Maybe you could hit him hard enough to startle him long enough to let you escape...

 

It was worth a try, right?

 

Tears started forming again, blurring your eyesight, and you were starting to feel desperate enough to beg...

 

The skeleton moved toward you.

 

“Please—” Something in you snapped. Your plea, barely a wail, sounded broken. And for a moment, the monster flinched. Your heart beat loudly in your chest, so loud it hurt.

 

(Sans didn't want to do this to you. But it was him or Papyrus. Him or Papyrus. Him or Papyrus...)

 

A wave of his hand, and your soul was encased in a layer of blue magic. You were hurled on the bed, forcefully, perhaps harsher than necessary, you didn't know. And when the monster spoke, there was a hint of threat underneath the flatness of his command.

 

“ **don't look at me. don't talk to me.** ” And he didn't want to ever be reminded you were _there_.

 

You closed your eyes and hid your face, and before you could help yourself you were sobbing uncontrollably as silently as you could. He was going to try to breed with you, like you were cattle. And for what? Your chest hurt. Your lungs couldn't get enough air, and for a long time you just sobbed into your hands until you felt his weight on the mattress.

 

There was a ringing in your ears as you felt the start of another panic attack, like so many you'd had since you had been brought here. You were about to be raped. Was it happening already? You didn't know how this worked, you didn't _want_ to have children down here, this made no sense...

 

These monsters were _sick_...

 

You sobbed and you cried and you chocked down on your own screams as you worried you would be hurt because of all the little sounds you were making, despite your attempts to stay quiet. You had learned down here that it was important to obey. You had to obey, but you couldn't... And you panicked and you rode out your wave of fear and you cried until you physically couldn't anymore and you...

 

Nobody touched you.

 

You didn't know how long your attack lasted, sobbing and hyperventilating and silently begging for death.

 

After you were spent, it was like you were wrapped in a thick blanket of indifference. You couldn't care less what happened to you anymore. And you were still being held down on the bed by magic, but you hadn't felt the monster so much as go near you.

 

You braved a glance at him through shaking fingers, your hands still hiding your face in a lame attempt at shielding at least _something_ from the monster in here with you. You saw the skeleton sitting by the edge of your bed, back towards you, his own head lowered and hands on his face.

 

He didn't look too sure of himself. For a moment, you wished you were brave enough to ignore his clear command to stay silent and just continued begging...

 

Instead, you turned your pleas inward, and they became like a mantra to keep you safe, hoping whatever deity was out there would listen to you.

 

_Please don't rape me. Please don't rape me. Please don't rape me. Please don't rape me..._

 

Eventually, you heard a long, drawn out sigh. Something else in the room started to glow blue with magic. And you heard the faint buzzing and crackling of _something._

 

You realized in horror that something was forming itself with magic, although you couldn't see it. You'd witnessed it before. And this monster was going to attack you, wasn't he. He was going to kill you after all.

 

You felt your own panic rising again, first at the prospect of death, and then at the prospect of something even _worse_ when you realized that, whatever the magic had been about, there now appeared to be something on the skeleton's lap because his legs shifted slightly,

 

he adjusted himself in his position more comfortably,

 

and he

 

w a s...

 

 

 

“ _shit..._ ” Sans exhaled a meaningless expletive, stroking his formed cock halfheartedly as he tried not to think of what he was doing. With his back turned to you and you lying immobilized on the bed, it was almost possible to pretend that you weren't here and jack off. _Just jack off_. It was the least he could do, to not touch you. _Not that it mattered_. Not that you were supposed to be treated like a person, like Frisk was. You were supposed to give them six souls and then be slaughtered along with the rest. Stars, this plan was ridiculous. This might not even work.

 

_But better him than Papyrus._

 

The cock in his hand faltered when he heard you start crying again, sobs almost muffled by your hands and your own fear of him, but still painfully loud in the dead silence of your enclosure. Sans felt another pang of guilt and quickly extinguished it, replacing it with an attempt at annoyance over having been interrupted.

 

(He had finally started to get a little turned on.)

 

“i don't want to listen to you,” he told you roughly, and you did the best that you could to obey and avoid getting hurt pretty much immediately.

 

You held your breath for as long as you could, willing yourself not to cry, trying and failing to will yourself to die.

 

_You didn't want this..._

 

You felt him shuffle in the bed after what felt like an eternity, the muffled sound of his hand moving in an almost rhythm forcing you to remain painfully aware of what he was doing.

 

You were currently trapped in bed, in a room with a monster probably masturbating right next to you. A situation that would have been painfully awkward if not for the lingering threat that you did not know whether or not he was working himself up to be extra hard when he shoved himself in you.

 

You tried not to imagine his penis, but your mind still envisioned endless and progressively more painful possibilities. (You didn't know if the shape of a skeleton's genitals would even remotely resemble a human's.)

 

Eventually, you felt the skeleton reposition himself in between your legs.

 

You automatically tried to close them, no longer caring if you would get punished in the process. You found, to your horror, you _couldn't_ , eyes snapping open and hands moving away from your face in shock at the new restraint.

 

Your gaze had originally been meant to wander to your legs, now being painfully spread apart despite the lack of anything holding them. You felt irrationally embarrassed over the sight of your spread legs, the small gown the lizard monster had put you in once your clothes got too tattered doing nothing to protect you from exposing your panties to this monster. But your eyes quickly found something else.

 

A panicked scream rose from your chest, but died somewhere in your vocal chords as they suddenly froze and stopped working.

 

The monster had placed himself in between your legs, attention firmly away from you as he concentrated on his length. He was panting slightly now, small beads of what looked impossibly like sweat forming on his bones. He was slightly hunched over himself, one hand on the mattress as he propped himself up, gaze focused on his dick as he refused to look at you. You caught yourself momentarily staring at his empty eye socket, then at the eye which was currently glowing with blue magic...

 

And then before you could stop yourself or even realized what you were doing, you saw the cock he was stroking with his other hand.

 

You wished you hadn't. You _really_ wished you hadn't.

 

It was... It was the thickest dick you'd ever seen.

 

You _winced_ when you saw it. Panicked. And, although it looked human enough, it was glowing blue, clearly made out of magic, which to you carried particularly painful connotations.

 

You didn't know _how_ the monster was pushing your legs apart without touching them but when you tried to move away, you found you could at least move your hips back a little bit.

 

The monster noticed. It caught his attention. And suddenly, his glowing eye was on _you._

 

 

 

He was too aroused to stop now, finally having worked himself up almost to the edge when he caught you staring at him. His eyes wandered to your soft lips, the cock in his hand aching for relief in a way that left him feeling more disgusting than he had been a few moments ago.

 

“ **don't** ,” he found himself snarling at you, mind briefly panicking, and before he knew what he was doing his hand was on your face, pushing it down and forcing you to look away as his hand held your face down and pressed your cheek against the bed.

 

It was probably his dick talking, but the contact with your skin felt good and it unnerved him. He wasn't _supposed_ to be liking this.

 

“ **don't** look at me,” he told you, starting to feel frightened of himself. He quickly hurried his pace, pumping his length almost furiously as he willed himself to _stop_ looking at you. You were a human. You were being held captive. This was so wrong. He was disgusting.

 

He quickly brought himself to the point of orgasm and told himself

 

He was just going to check that you weren't looking at him. He just wanted to confirm it. And your eyes were indeed squeezed shut and you were being _so obedient_ , submissive to him, he was going to blow his load on your cunt and— _fuck_ —

 

He wondered how much better the orgasm would feel with a tight human cunt wrapped around his cock and he was just thinking that to make himself come. He just had to make himself come. Then it would be over...

 

The orgasm felt better than he had wanted it to feel.

 

 

 

Eyes shut tight, you pretended not to be there and tried to ignore your racing heart and the buildup of lewd noises the monster on top of you was making.

 

Suddenly, the monster shifted again. The free hand he had been leaning on moved to push away your underwear, completely exposing you to him. He came with a grunt soon after; harsh, skeletal hand still placed firmly over the side of your face. And for a moment, you thought you couldn't possibly feel more degraded as you felt the warm, thick sludge of what you assumed was monster come against your unwilling opening.

 

Soft pants. The sound of a man coming down from his climax. And you couldn't help yourself, you opened your eyes and looked, finally hoping that this would be it and he was done.

 

You caught him staring at your naked opening as if entranced, his complete attention on his come in you. And then he seemed to realize his mistake, because  
  


“fuck...”

 

He had come _on_ you, not in you.

 

A part of you died as he quickly moved the hand that had pushed your panties aside for him to scoop up as much come as he could with his finger and tried to push it in.

 

The tip of his finger was rough, hard bone unpleasant against your dry opening. You tried to shift away again, and he noticed.

 

It was as if your silent protest made him realize what he was doing because he instantly moved his hand away from you and got off the bed.

 

He'd touched you... He had told himself he wouldn't touch you.

 

Shit... _Shit_...

 

He didn't know what to do when he released you.

 

You were too numb with disgust and terror to even remember what you had planned to do when he released you.

 

He allowed himself one look at you and when you met his gaze it was as if your own horrified expression was reflected on the monster's face.

 

You really _did_ look... kind of like Frisk.

 

But it was him or Papyrus. _Him or Papyrus_. He'd do _better_ , next time... He'd get you pregnant.

 

 

 

And the door never opened again, so you couldn't even try to make a run for it, because the monster just disappeared.

 


	3. Not exactly pleasant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am both excited and terrified by how many people seemed to be into this fic. Thank you!!

Sans didn't sleep that night, lying awake in bed until the early hours of the morning.

 

He felt dirty, putrid even, after having actually gone through with doing... something like that. Something _to_ you like that. Something...

 

The sight of his own come splattered so near your opening had done things to him that he didn't want to admit.

 

And it was true that he'd only agreed for fear that Alphys might have gone through with actually requesting this of Papyrus, but...

 

The... _thing_ that he had done to you kept replaying in his mind over and over.

 

His finger almost inside your cunt had felt good, warm and inviting and moist with his own juices. Your skin had been soft. Your lips had looked...

 

 _Not_ tempting. Not at all. He was only doing the bare minimum to at least _try_ to get more human souls. Nobody could fault him. How could he possibly consider entering you? And it wasn't like he had agreed to do this because he'd _wanted_ to...

 

He'd only liked it near the end because he was trying to make himself come. As quickly as possible. And if he'd thought certain things while having you captive and defenseless in front of him...

 

As you lay in a bed forced down by his magic with no choice but to wait for him to fill you with his come...

 

Sans wasn't a... He wasn't a bad person. He had barely been ready for the idea of jacking off into you. Had even told himself maybe it wouldn't be rape, if he refused to touch you. But then he _had_.

 

His hand had pushed you down in an attempt to hide you. His fingers had brushed against you when he had moved your panties.

 

He hadn't been ready for how good your skin had felt, soft and warm and entirely vulnerable under his palm. He hadn't expected to notice how thin the fabric of your underwear was, how flimsy, how rippable...

 

And worst of all, he hadn't been ready... Hadn't even expected...

 

It had almost felt good, near the end, to have you almost under him as he jacked off with the idea of shooting his load in you. He had been... almost turned on by what he was doing to you, knowing full well that you were unable to make him stop. And he told himself—he _told_ himself—that he had just been thinking that way because it was the quickest way to find release...

 

The faster he came, the sooner that thing he'd done would be over and the sooner he could go and hopefully never see you again, provided you mercifully got pregnant with sextuplets. (How likely was _that_ to happen? Nobody knew for sure how efficiently humans bred.)

 

He had just been trying to get it over with as quickly as possible, he told himself.

 

But it was still impossible to sleep. Dawn found him, and he felt terrible. He spent the next two days pretending to be sick. Or maybe he really _was_ sick.

 

He didn't go to any of his jobs, or took any of his mandatory breaks. He didn't even go to Grillby's, which actually worried the heck out of Papyrus.

 

He kind of... Started ignoring the calls and texts from Alphys.

 

And meanwhile, trapped in your room at the lab, you started getting even more desperate. You didn't even know how many time had passed, and the small shower you had available to use had done nothing to make you feel clean. You still felt the thick sludge of the monster's gross come in you. You panicked more than once, scrubbing your skin raw until you used up your bar of soap, throwing up due to stress and then becoming even more stressed when you started feeling _sure_ that the reason you were throwing up was because you were pregnant.

 

You tried to hang yourself. Twice, with your bedsheets. And the only place you had found to hang yourself was your shower head, but the lizard monster _still_ ended up removing all your bedding when she came in with food once and found you trying.

 

Didn't look at you even once.

 

Handed you the plate of food and left.

 

She looked _guilty_. All of them looked guilty. But no one seemed guilty enough to stop.

 

You were at the mercy of real monsters.

 

 

 

Sans got a visit from Alphys.

 

It didn't come at all as a surprise. Sans had expected as much.

 

They didn't talk about what they were doing but it was obvious that's why she was there.

 

For a while, they just sat in the living room together. Papyrus had been so excited to have company, he ran to the store to get a fresh batch of ingredients to cook. Sans turned on the tv, but it was awkward to watch anime knowing that they had a human trapped... and...

 

They watched a Mettaton show instead.

 

After a while, Alphys spoke. She sounded more nervous than usual and almost to the verge of tears. “I-I d-don't th-think I c-can... G-Go... thr-through with th-this. I... I k-know we h-have t-to... w-Work hard to f-free e-very one but...”  
  
Sans sighed. “we should just kill them, alphys.”

 

“W-We c-can't!” she protested, suddenly defensive over Undyne's decision. “U-Undyne doesn't w-want... Asgore d-didn't d-do it, i-it must have been f-for a r-reason... B-Besides, sh-she's right, n-no one sh-should have th-that much power...”

 

“does she even _know_ what the alternative _involves_?”

 

Alphys stiffened. Cooking with Mettaton went to commercials, also involving Mettaton.

 

“S-She... O-Only knows t-the v-vague idea. I... I t-told her I-I'd take c-care of it. T-To be h-honest, I-I'm n-not... c-comfortable kn-knowing m-most of th-the details m-myself.”

 

And they had been thinking of sending _Papyrus_ to _this_?

 

Or had they thought of him from the start, after all?

 

“you want me to go back,” he told her. “so that you can stop worrying about it.”

 

Alphys lowered her voice, her tone becoming a desperate hush. “Nobody knows, b-but... we're r-running out of f-food. U-Undyne... _r-really_ doesn't want a-anyone to a-absorb the s-soul, but th-this is our last r-resort... We h-haven't h-had a h-human f-fall in f-fifty years... I-It's either t-this or... m-merging a m-monster's s-soul with a h-human's and... W-we j-just don't k-know...”

 

Sans didn't know what to say. He felt sick, disgusted by himself. Mettaton was advertising his glamburgers. Were they really running out of food?

 

Alphys insisted. She was sounding more desperate. “J-Just... T-Try for a y-year or so. _P-Please_. I k-know this is a s-stretch b-but we're a-all c-counting on you! E-Even i-if... n-nobody k-knows about it... W-We r-really n-need this. I kn-know y-you wouldn't hurt her— _h-hurt-it_...” she corrected herself nervously. “B-B-Better th-this t-than... d-dying r-right away r-right? Wh-Who k-knows, if i-it... gives b-birth to seven... We c-could spare it...”

 

Sans gave a long, drawn out sigh and “ _shit_...”

 

If it were up to him, he would have killed you right away. He would much, _much_ rather just have killed you right away.

 

You'd felt so warm under his hand, and delicate.

 

You reminded him of Frisk, a little bit.

 

And all he had to do was... Just jack off. Just that, right? He did that in his spare time already, what could it hurt...

 

It wasn't like he was entering you.

 

“shit... ok,” he whispered, and he tried to ignore the small rush he felt, that small rush of... _something,_ as he remembered for the umpteenth time that day how it had felt to come on you. He wasn't doing this to enjoy it. He wasn't going to enjoy himself. And after all, it was better him than Papyrus, or any other monster who might have stuck his dick in you instead of jacking off, right? You were better off, with it being him... “ok, alphys. i already told you i would.”

 

The relief that Alphys felt was almost palpable. The cooking show came back on from commercials, and Mettaton started throwing confetti at the faces of the contestants. ( _“Impaired eyesight! What a dramatic turn of events for my viewers~!”_ )

 

The camera focused on a shot of food, causing Alphys to let out a small “O-Oh!”  
  
She turned to Sans, looking like she was going to ask for yet another huge favor. Her friendly smile faltered as she started to nervously play with her hands. “U-Um... B-By the way... I w-was thinking... M-Maybe it w-would feel m-more at e-ease with y-you if y-you were the one t-that f-fed it. It m-might h-help s-speed things up t-that w-way? If she's—I _f-it's-less-stressed-when-you're-doing-it_. M-Maybe? I d-don't know...”  
  
And something painful sank in Sans' chest when he realized that Alphys was trying to severe all ties with it.

 

“Y-You wouldn't h-have t-to do e-everything. I... I-I'd still come ch-check on it... O-On occasion... A-And e-every o-once in a wh-while Undyne m-might c-come to intimidate it... B-But if s-she s-saw you the m-most...”

 

“sure,” he said quickly, wanting this conversation to be done already. “sure. i won't have to cook, right?”  
  
“I-I'll give you the f-food!!” Alphys exclaimed quickly, sounding entirely too relieved. “Y-You'll j-just have to g-give it. It m-might r-really help to s-speed t-things up...”

 

Sans started to feel just a little bit of resentment towards you, the way he was progressively getting more stuck with you like this.

 

 

 

The visit caught you eyeing your bare mattress, wondering desperately and perhaps irrationally if there was a way to kill yourself with it.

 

You didn't hear the door open, and yet the skeleton monster was suddenly _there_. Standing by the door in the room, plate of something in hand.

 

You _screamed_. And ran to a corner of the room where you tried to desperately hold on to the bare tiles before the monster had a chance to throw you with magic once again on the bed.

 

_He was here to rape you, here was here to rape you..._

 

The sight did something to Sans that he didn't like, guilt and anger pooling in all at once.

 

Blue magic enveloped your soul once again and roughly placed you just in front of the bed.

 

Your heart was racing. You were hyperventilating. You started begging. “Please don't do this again, please don't touch me, please, _please_...!”

 

He almost threw the plate on the bed instead of placing it there. “i said **don't talk to me**.”

 

There was something almost dangerous in his voice, like resentment and anger, and it shut you up real quick.

 

And instead, you shivered.

 

You shut your eyes closed and hid your face with your hands as best as you could.

 

And that made Sans hate himself. He'd never been so feared. You looked like you were expecting him to attack you.

 

Sans _hated_ this.

 

Your skin was warm.

 

He didn't touch you again.

 

“eat,” he ordered you. “i'll come back for the plate in fifteen minutes.”

 

And he hated what he was about to do, he hated it...

 

He ignored the faint rush of excited magic he felt pooling in his pelvis and tried hard not to think of what it meant.

 

When you opened your eyes, he'd vanished.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, I ship Frisk and Sans as my OTP. This is a Sans/Reader fic but... 
> 
> I don't know if hints of a one-sided Frans is showing.


	4. Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously can't believe how this awful trash has been received. Thank you all so much! All these kudos and comments are seriously flattering~!
> 
> Full disclosure, I wrote this as an excuse to write shameless, drawn-out smut. I don't really believe any of the Undertale characters would resort to *doing* something like this, but it's a fun "what if" (to me). :)

You had fallen down here who knows how long ago and had no way of knowing how long you had been trapped here.

 

What felt like an eternity had passed with you locked away in this room like this. Neglected. Dehumanized. Nobody speaking to you, nobody looking at you...

 

It was enough to drive anyone insane.

 

You had been placed here to be raped, bred by monsters for some disgusting reason. You didn't know if it was even possible to have a monster's children. You didn't want to stay here and find out.

 

Even death was preferable to _this_.

 

Your skeletal captor had brought you food, but you couldn't find it in you to force yourself to eat. The meal was of the standard fare. Instant noodles and a side of stale fries with ketchup: yet more leftovers from whatever junk it was the lizard monster seemed to eat. Most importantly, though, the skeleton monster had given you a thick, ceramic plate and that was all you needed. So you scooped out the cold, flavorless noodles, intent on throwing it away along with the side of fries that...

 

When your fingers touched the fries, they felt very much still hot to the touch. You flinched at the unexpected source of heat, momentarily surprised to find that the fries had been fresh. Absolutely covered in ketchup to the point that they looked almost inedible, but still fresh.

 

You hadn't expected that.

 

For the first time in a long while, your mouth watered.

 

You felt ashamed of yourself for lowering yourself to accept the food from the monster who had forced his sperm in you, but ate the fries. And somehow that single act left you feeling even more miserable and angry with yourself.

 

When was the last time you had even been treated like a person? Were you even still a person, after having gone through all of this?

 

For the rest of those fifteen minutes, you mourned your dignity, your self-respect. Who even were you? The mere thought that you were considering hurting anyone felt like the worst betrayal you could commit against yourself. You had always strived to be kind to others. You could no longer afford to be.

 

You sobbed into the plate as you cradled it against your chest.

 

 

 

Fifteen minutes flew by faster than Sans had liked.

 

The skeleton felt anxious. Nervous, holding back a terrifying excitement. He didn't know what to expect when he came back to you. You had been so compliant, the first time... Maybe you would be again. He wasn't eager to repeat the experience, yet a part of him felt...

 

He firmly and guiltily denied the shy spark of a lingering excitement over the thought of jacking off into you again, the flavor of his own arousal leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

 

He didn't want to do this. He couldn't possibly want to. And so he told himself that, over and over—watching the time go by, almost impatient, almost excited, wallowing in denial and guilt... He kept telling himself that he didn't want to do this. Couldn't want to do this. But he had to.

 

He told himself, as soon as he knew that you would end up held down on your bed again, that this time he wouldn't touch you. As soon as he knew, he promised himself. And he didn't really _have_ to touch you. He'd make you strip of your own underwear and make you look away and **stay quiet** as he positioned himself near enough to you that you were close enough to his cock. And all he had to do was come.

 

Easy enough. Simple enough. And maybe he had started to wonder what it would feel like, if he gave in and pushed his length into your cunt. He'd never really fucked a human before. It was simple morbid curiosity, thoughts of an idle mind just moments before his hand found his pants...

 

And maybe he was curious, but that didn't mean he had to give in and find out. He didn't have to touch you, and he wouldn't. Wouldn't touch you. He could at least give you that.

 

Maybe he was trying his best to think of you as a thing without feelings, but at the very least he could give you that.

 

He teleported into your confinement just as soon as your time was up.

 

 

 

...and was promptly greeted by a heavy ceramic plate, flying dangerously close to his face.

 

You had missed at the last minute. You had deliberately missed. You couldn't bring himself to kill him, no matter what the consequences meant. But still you were on him as soon as the plate shattered behind him, body pumped with adrenaline and your heartbeat racing as fast as it ever had. You hadn't expected to spare him, but _had_ expected the door to at least be open so you could run, and barring that, there was but a single way out.

 

You would take it. There was no way that you could win in a fight against him, but even death was preferable to this and you would take it.

 

You tried to scratch his face, hoping to anger the monster badly enough that he would give you a quick end. But your fingertips had barely scratched his cheekbone before the monster disappeared from right in front of you.

 

"fuck!" The curse from right behind you, shock and anger in the skeleton's voice. You chose to run to the door, then, having never been keen on fighting...

 

And were quickly pulled back, _up_ and thrown once again into your bed by magic, and you panicked...

 

You panicked. Even more than before, you panicked. Started screaming your head off. Frantically trying to break free. And you just yelled, "DON'T! DON'T! PLEASE DON'T! DON'T RAPE ME, DON'T TOUCH ME, PLEASE—"

 

His own voice sounded anxiously desperate. "be **quiet**!" 

 

You ignored it. "DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T! DON'T! DON'T! DON'T—!"

 

" **shut up!!** " The skeleton climbing on you.

 

"DON'T!!!” the screams spilled out now like a mantra. “DON'T!!! DON'T, DON'T, DON'T, DON—”

 

 _Smack!_ A loud sound in a now deafened room.

 

A hard _slap_ across your face.

 

The skeleton's eye sockets widened as he stilled from on top of you, an expression akin to horror etched on his on his face as he winced looking down at you almost like it had been you who had slapped _him_.

 

You didn't know—you'd never know—how _close_ he'd come to the apologies spewing from his mouth, barely restrained through a thick layer of surreal disbelief and terror.

 

And instead he forced himself to choke out, "i said not to talk to me". And if there was a small crack in his resolve as something faltered in him, he hoped to god you wouldn't hear it in his voice.

 

You didn't. He fought his own relief when you didn't. And you were too busy panicking, because the monster was _on_ you.

 

The monster was on you. He was on you, on you...You tried to fight. You were restrained by blue magic. And you wanted to die, you'd _much_ rather die—

 

You spat on his face.

 

He shoved his hard hand against your mouth.

 

The phalanges hurt against your skin far less than your powerlessness did.

 

And he couldn't control you. You screamed anyway. Your voice was muffled, but there. And you screamed. And you screamed.

 

And you sobbed. You sobbed against his hand.

 

You didn't want this. You didn't want him to be on you, touching you. You wanted to _die_.

 

Sans stayed on top of you for a long time as you struggled. Couldn't bring himself to even wipe your spit that dribbled down his face. And instead he stared at you, scared yet mesmerized.

 

He didn't want to notice how soft your lips felt as you screamed into his hand, sobbing and crying out in between pants and warm breaths.  
  


And he still couldn't believe he had hit you. He couldn't even begin to identify what had gone through his mind when he'd hit you.

 

Every sob from you, every muffled scream was like torture. Your skin was warm under his hand, just as soft and smooth as he remembered it had felt. He was straddling you. And as much as he would probably try, he didn't think he'd ever forget how you had felt under him, after _this_.

 

As soft and as vulnerable as you were, you were his to fuck. And as out of control and hopeless as he felt, he had complete control over one thing at least. _You_.

 

He wasn't even remotely ready for how quickly he conjured his dick afte you fell limp and stopped fighting.

 

You had given up. You had exhausted yourself screaming. And you were too weak to defend yourself. You couldn't stop him.

 

Sans kept his hand firm against your mouth, eager to hurry things up without you making noise. And quickly, he shifted, adjusting his weight. He was no longer straddling you. And his eyes remained glued to your skin as his magic worked to spread your legs leaving you vulnerable. You closed your eyes, your last defense against what was happening to you, but that only seemed to enhance the feeling of his rough, impatient hand touching the skin between your legs as he moved your panties aside. He left you completely exposed to him. And for a brief moment, his touch lingered, hard bone on soft skin.

 

The room was quiet save for a soft buzz of magic and the rustle of fabric as the monster above you freed his cock from his pants.

 

The hand that was pressed against your face moved slightly, thumb stroking your cheek in an almost loving caress.

 

And he tried to focus his gaze on his own work but it kept wandering to what your panties were no longer hiding. His grip on his length tightened as he subconsciously tried to replicate with his hand what he speculated your cunt would feel like. Your legs were spread, fully against your will, but the sight still conjured in his mind the illusion of invitation...

 

What if you maybe wanted this?

 

His hand gripped his shaft harder.

 

What if he gave in?

 

He picked up the pace.

 

And a sharp, stiffled moan escaped him, making you wish your hands were free to block out all sound. The noises his body made, by hand or by mouth, became more frequent. You felt the bed slightly shake with the force of him stroking himself.

 

You wished you were blind and deaf, or _dead_ , oblivious of the world around you as it crept over you, expanding in decay and sickness.

 

He had never been as turned on as he had been with you lying helpless and unconditionally accessible underneath him.

 

And eventually, he repositioned himself, ever so carefully. His grip over your mouth strengthened as if he was expecting you to start screaming again.

 

You soon knew why. You _did_ scream. But you still felt the tip of him, unnaturally smooth solid magic almost as warm as his come, pressing just against your entrance.

 

You managed to utter a strangled " _No_ " against his hand before his hand pushed your face down firmly in warning.

 

Your lips wrapped amazingly well around the tip of his cock, the slickness of his precome making your slit feel dangerously inviting. He forced himself to limit himself to pressing the head of his cock just outside of your entrance, spreading your lips with just the tip of his shaft as he tried not to...

 

Not to fuck you. He couldn't fuck you. That was the boundary. He wouldn't cross it. _Fuck—_

 

He felt himself getting closer to orgasm and sickeningly marveled over the fact that he was about to come inside of you.

 

He was going to blow his load in you, weaker than him as you were and helpless under him and human. He was going to come, and there was nothing you could do.

 

You couldn't stop him. He could do anything to you, and all you could do was to take it.  
  


His strokes across his cock became almost savage as he furiously pumped himself while simultaneously holding himself back from beginning to thrust. It would be so easy...

 

He was so turned on. He tried not to think of it. And he just needed...

 

He tried not to push himself in.

 

He came while envisioning himself pumping into you.

 

Load after load of cum, disgustingly thick and hot like bad sludge. His cock pressed slightly further against you. And some of it still dribbled rather grossly down between your legs

 

A lot of it, he had succeeded in ejaculating into you.

 

His mind went momentarily numb as he succumbed to the aftermath of his orgasm. He allowed himself to stare, mesmerized, at the sight of his cock almost linked to your cunt, soaked now and dripping with his fresh come. And he hadn't ever thought that he would get this turned on by the sight.

 

He snapped out of his reverie in quiet horror when he found himself contemplating shoving his come further into you with his cock.

 

Sans quickly moved himself away from you.

 

He hadn't...

 

He couldn't have really enjoyed that. 

 

You felt the monster move away from your body. Almost immediately afterward, the magic that had been used to restrain you was lifted from your body. You felt a short-lived, weightless relief, quickly followed by the horrified disgust that came with knowing and feeling _what was in you_.

 

You were full of his seed.

 

Your rapist's seed. A monster's semen. He had masturbated himself into you with the express intent of impregnating you. _What if he succeeded_. You had a stranger's come _**in you**_.

 

You panicked, and Sans forced himself to stay behind. He didn't know why he didn't run from the aftermath of what he had created. And he watched you with an almost pained discomfort as you slowly removed yourself from the bed as if in a dream. Your limbs were shaking. Your head was pounding.

 

You wanted to die.

 

You wanted to kill yourself.

 

He found himself dangerously close to muttering the word “sorry” and then he left.

 


	5. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god. I wasn't expecting so many people to read and like this sad excuse for porn. Thanks, readers! You're awesome.

The weight of the broken plate felt substantial in your hand, weighed down by the threat of death and the somberness of its significance.

 

Your shaking hands held your first realistic means of escape. What you had thought you craved: freedom by death.. And yet alone now with the heavy ceramic, pieces broken into sharp edges that shone almost ominously with reflective light, you felt paralyzed. There was a numbness that came when faced with the stark reality of certain death, a paralyzing fear holding you back as you fought basic survival instincts. You didn't know how long you had been sitting there, motionless amid broken shards as you held the sharpest piece of significant size your eyes had found. You didn't know how much time you had left.

 

You hadn't even noticed the pieces of the broken plate, at first, too preoccupied in the aftermath of the assault committed against your body to notice anything but the heavy pounding in your chest. Your body had moved itself almost mechanically to the shower, legs trembling but racing mind eager to scrub yourself free of the thick layer of muck that enveloped you. You had cleaned yourself off the best that you could (the skeleton monster had neglected to leave you with a new bar of soap) but you still felt dirty, and used, with a vile layer of slime covering you and the distinct feeling of his come in between your legs, disgusting by its very nature as it invaded you, sticking to your very core like hot tar.

 

You had seen far too much of his cum, exiting you in fat dribbles as you tried to wash yourself off with the hottest water you could get. The thick blue substance trickled slowly down your legs as you tried to not to watch, scrubbing your skin with hot water with trembling hands. The unwanted sight had done a number on you in the shower, making your ears ring. For the long moment that you had stood trying to cleanse yourself in the shower—a moment that could have been minutes, but had felt to you like hours—you had felt on edge and the verge of tears and panic, shaking limbs and the ringing in your ears doing nothing but accentuate the sudden numbness that overcame you.

 

You had eventually noticed that the shower had run out of hot water. You didn't know how long you had spent trying to clean yourself. But after you got out of the shower and dressed yourself, wet skin soaking your clothes after you either forgot or couldn't bring yourself to spend energy drying yourself, you'd moved yourself to the floor next to your bed and it was there that you noticed it.

 

Your legs felt too weak to move. You crawled instead toward the broken plate that the monster had left inside of your prison.

 

Your heart beat so loudly that it almost hurt.

 

This was the first time since your imprisonment started where you had been confronted with an almost guaranteed way of killing yourself. Your mind felt eerily empty as you picked up a piece of the shattered ceramic. And this time, you couldn't bring yourself to feel the panicked desperation, the rush of adrenaline that had allowed you to try anything that carried with it the remotely distant possibility of an escape. Your mind was instead somber emptiness, hopeless negativity making it difficult to even move, much less find the strength to use the piece of ceramic, heavy and sharp in your hand, to free yourself.

 

There was a moment in which your broken mind envisioned the faces of family members, as well as the friends you'd had who were probably still waiting for you up on the surface. Had enough time passed since you had fallen down for them to notice you were missing? Was there any chance that they might already consider you dead?

 

Could you do this, to them, the people you loved... Could you really extinguish whatever small chance you had of seeing them again, giving up and killing yourself without a fight?

 

Something in you felt shattered, broken in as many pieces as the plate surrounding you. No matter how much you had endured, you couldn't bring yourself to fight your capturers. You had always been the one to choose peace, opting for nonviolence and benevolence even when your own kindness harmed you. You had never been the type of person to fight, to hurt others... Not for the world and certainly not for yourself.

 

No matter how much you tried to reason with yourself that it would be for the best, you knew the only way out for you would be to either hope for mercy or hurt yourself. You could never bring yourself to hurt others.

 

Not even literal monsters.

 

Yet the mere thought of throwing your life away made you feel nauseous. The edges of broken plate on your hand were sharp, yet you'd still have to dig at your skin significantly. There was a chance you might get caught by one of the monsters and given punishment. And while the stinging pain on your cheek from the skeleton's slap had not subsided, you knew very well that there were even worse forms of punishment: being faced with a colder indifference, worse isolation, scarcer meals from a monster who couldn't even bear to look at you...

 

Once, twice, you tried to press the edge of ceramic down to your wrist but couldn't find the energy. Your hand didn't move. Your vision blurred slightly.

 

In the end, you felt your own body stand up and watched yourself, almost as if from the ceiling, pick up the shattered pieces of plate and discard them into the small trash of your bedroom. Piece by piece, you tried to scream at yourself to stop.

 

You couldn't find your voice.

 

And in the end, there were only two pieces left.

 

You contemplated with almost surreal tranquility the pieces of plate you held in each hand.

 

On your right hand, you held the biggest broken piece of plate, sharp and menacing and big enough that it almost resembled a knife. It was a significant portion, the closest thing to a weapon that you had ever come across in here. You could easily use it to hurt a monster, to maim them... It was a tool you might be able to use to protect yourself and escape.

 

On your left hand, there was a smaller piece. Slightly sharper and far easier to conceal than the knife-like shard in your other hand. It was small and almost blade-like, something you might be able to hide to use in your darkest moment when you were certain that death was your only escape, preferable to even the small chance of ever seeing your loved ones again.

 

If your mind pondered, you didn't know what it thought. All you knew was that you had two pieces. All you knew was that the monsters who had captured you and held you prisoner were still living beings, conscious and entirely capable of their own emotions, needs and wants.

 

They had captured you. They intended to breed you for whatever their purpose was. A selfish part of you burned with angry indignity as you told yourself that every one of them—from the lizard who had been holding you captive to the skeleton who had already come twice to masturbate himself into you to the fish monster who rarely came in to threaten and yell at you—all of them had proven that they were less worthy of their lives than you were, that they were less deserving of mercy than you were. You would be within your right to hurt them, to lash out at them, to even kill them, if you possibly could...

 

And yet your soul protested.

 

You had spent your entire life thinking that everyone—absolutely everyone—was deserving of kindness. Had grown up treating everyone from friends to strangers to even childhood bullies with respect and unconditional benevolence. You had grown to witness how, as time passed, even the angriest of bullies would eventually become a friend. And while your current situation was extreme, and you didn't hope to become friends with these monsters... The thought of murder? Violence? It was so offensive to your very being that it almost felt physically harmful.

 

You couldn't bring yourself to kill anyone. And so, you threw away the bigger piece of plate.

 

You hid the smaller one under your mattress, and hoped that the trash would be emptied before your desperation overtook you and you found yourself once again at war with yourself.

 

Your heart rate slowly decreased. The ringing in your ears subsided. And the entirety of your body was still numb, emotions detached and mind blank, but you suddenly found that you were tired.

 

You wanted to sleep. Sleep for a long time.

 

You didn't want to sleep on the same bed where you had felt the skeleton monster press his _thing_ against you.

 

You felt yourself move to lie on the floor.

 

And you slept.

 


	6. Should he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For shameless smut, there isn't yet a lot of sex in this... :/

He was never quite able to rid himself of the memory of your skin, the feeling of you permeating his senses almost as if burned into his very marrow.

 

He had washed his hands many times, taking the time to carefully scrub every millimeter from the tip of his phalanges down to his carpals with uncharacteristic fastidiousness. Still, the soapy water could not rid him from the feeling of his hands over your skin, an unwanted reminder of how good you'd felt under him as Sans tried to wash his hands enough to forget how he'd not only held you down, but struck you.

 

He shouldn't have been able to get himself off, after what he'd done to you. Much less should he have been able to find how easy it had been, despite your body's protest. He shouldn't have been so quick to lower the waistband of his shorts as he had, freeing his cock with an almost eagerness as soon as you had stopped crying and struggling.

 

It shouldn't have been that easy. He tried not to wonder just what it said about him that it was.

 

It would be better, infinitely better, if he managed to wash himself of your memory and forget that you existed.

 

The day ended without contact from Alphys. It occurred to Sans that he had never been told how often to feed you. Being a skeleton, he pretty much ate whenever he felt like it, his body powered by magic to a degree higher than most other monsters. Still, with you being human, he assumed... You probably needed to eat more often than he did. How much, he did not know, but when night came and he hadn't heard from Alphys...

 

He decided that it wouldn't be too bad, if you only ate once today. Maybe Alphys had fed you before he had. It wouldn't kill you to wait.

 

He wasn't about to seek you out, not today.

 

But tomorrow came too soon and he didn't want to deal with you _then_ , either.

 

 

 

It took Sans all the willpower he had to throw on his coat the next morning and finally visit Alphys.

 

He hadn't received a single text from him. Not a phone call, not a visit. For all that he knew, she might even be dead. For all that _Alphys_ knew, _you_ might be dead. Or even Sans.

 

He wasn't naive, when it came to humans. As much as Sans had been fond of Frisk, he knew very well why Toriel was dead.

 

Humans were dangerous. Incapable of magic, but remarkably strong in soul. He was perfectly aware of the fact that _you_ were dangerous. And as much as he told himself he didn't like the purpose, he would never be sorry for restraining you with magic.

 

Alphys didn't seem surprised to see him. She greeted him with a “Good morning” and took a moment to dig through her fridge for another cup of instant noodles.

 

Sans' attention wandered to an almost empty bag of dog food, and he found himself wondering if you were being fed that, as well. Suppressing something too uncomfortably close to pity inside his chest, he subconsciously adjusted his coat, the weight of the cinnamon bunny he'd grabbed for you feeling inexplicably heavy inside his pocket for a guilty second.

 

He wasn't _supposed_ to be feeding you extras.

 

But who on earth would stop him? Alphys? She didn't even seem to want to talk about you.

 

There was an uncomfortable silence as the current Royal Scientist handed him the cup of cold noodles, another batch of leftovers from god knows when. Sans momentarily wondered if he should tell Alphys to eat better food, but felt like a hypocrite. He himself wasn't exactly fit to give advice when his go to meals were basically ketchup.

 

Still, as the silence between them drew out, awkwardly ended when Alphys started rambling about the mecha anime she'd watched last night, Sans realized they were both actively avoiding talking about you.

 

It was a chilling realization, to know that he was basically being left alone and unsupervised with you. The amount of power he had been given over you was staggering. He didn't _have_ to feed you. He didn't _have_ to take care of you. He could probably abandon you to die, at this point, afterward blaming your death on either a mistake or his sheer laziness and nobody would notice, until it was too late.

 

He could easily free himself of you. Never see you again. He knew that as much as Alphys insisted you should be kept alive, your existence was as much of an uncomfortable burden to her as it now was to him.

 

He was as horrified by the sudden temptation as he was by the way a part of him instantly protested, not entirely undue to selfishness.

 

There was something dangerously alluring about having this much power over you, something that he couldn't define or explain but still felt pervasively present. He could let himself get carried away, if he wasn't careful.

 

His hand holding the cup of noodles tightened. He felt slightly dizzy, and told himself it was because it was too early.

 

And he should just let you die, for everyone's benefit. He should just let you die, but there was something about the softness of your skin, the way you'd felt under him almost as if if he had gone closer to you, you'd fit... It wasn't entirely undue to selfishness, or even possessiveness, that his mind protested at the thought of leaving you. But he could be careful. He was confident not to get carried away. He hadn't entered you once, after all, even if he could. Wasn't that proof that you were better off with him?

 

In the back of his mind, the idea began to form that he didn't _have_ to come inside of you if he was being so unsupervised but promptly suppressed it.

 

He barely listened to Alphys. Alphys seemed to barely listen to herself. And when she was finally done rambling, and Sans told her goodbye, there was guilty relief on her face.

 

He should just leave you to die.

 

But he still teleported.

 

 

 

Your room was significantly bigger than his, leaving you with enough space to walk and exercise as you probably needed. Sans still felt he would eventually get tired of the four walls you were trapped in, no matter how much time he seemed able to spend in his own bedroom. He blamed the clinical air of sterility in the place, grey walls and a bare mattress with a small bathroom in the corner. There was no privacy here, or warmth, hard gray tile covering everything but the ceiling in a room completely devoid of color.

 

At least Sans' mess somewhat personalized his own bedroom.

 

He looked around and found you lying on the floor. For a short panicked moment, he almost expected you to be dead. But then the lights in his eye sockets had lingered on your form, the softness of your flesh particularly inviting in a way that did numbers on his skull, and he noticed, with no small sense of wonderment, how your chest slightly rose with each small breath you took. Your hair was slightly wet, as well as your gown, itself too short to keep you sufficiently warm even if it had been dry.

 

You seemed to have nothing to cover yourself with, despite the fact that he was sure he'd seen at least a couple of blankets in here before. Where were your bedsheets? He had a spare set, crumpled up in his room somewhere. Perhaps he could...

  
...No. No. _No_ , Sans, it was either bedsheets or the extra food. Not both. He couldn't possibly do both. He was already toeing the line bringing you food that was actually edible. You weren't _supposed_ to be treated well. You were just...

 

You were just there to be bred, and then killed amongst whatever came out of you. You were a cow meant for slaughter. You were _not_...

 

He was _not_ supposed to bring you bedsheets.

 

(Who would even notice?)

 

His hands shook slightly as he set the cup of cold noodles on your bed. He wasn't stupid enough to bring you another plate, not after what happened. Still, when he quickly took the cinnabun out of his pocket and set it along with a paper napkin next to the cup, he kind of wished he had a way to make your food look more presentable.

 

Speaking of the plate, where was it?

 

A moment of anxiety, if not downright _panic_ , as he realized his mistake. Shit. Shit. _Shit_...!

 

He was on you before he even knew what he was doing, shaking you awake with anxious hands as he tried to find whatever weapon you'd been able to make with broken ceramic. Frisk had killed Toriel. _Frisk had killed Toriel_. And now here he had been, much too preoccupied trying to not be too nice of you that he'd left you with a perfect weapon...

 

The moment his hands were on you, you screamed. Tried to push the skeleton off of you as best as you could. And when you did, he panicked. His eye glowed blue. He summoned a bone that rose up dangerously close to your head. You screamed some more. You started begging.

 

“LET GO OF ME! PLEASE PLEASE DON'T HURT ME DON'T TOUCH ME LET GO—”

 

He jumped off of you as if you had been made of fire. Eye sockets trained first with disbelief at his bone and then at you. The cheek he had struck had bruised overnight, the purple outline of his own hand now visible.

 

What had he done?

 

He was despicable...

 

His voice boomed, anger at himself and at the entire situation as he tried to remind himself not to speak too much to you. “ **the plate**. where is it?”

 

Your eyes were wide and frightened. Your hands immediately went to pull down your gown. And as you looked at him, fear and revulsion on your face, he couldn't help but feel disgusted, too.

 

What a shitty situation.

 

He shouldn't ever come back.

 

It was all you could do to point to the trash can, hands trembling, doing all that you could to stop yourself from spilling tears. You were so afraid of this thing. He could do anything to you. And he looked angry, he looked scary...

 

You caught the lights in his eyes lingering on your bare legs with an almost hunger in them and you shuddered.

 

The monster stood up, and quickly walked towards the trash can. The plate was indeed there, along with yesterday's noodles. He felt a weird satisfaction to find no sign of the fries. You had probably eaten them. The discovery did something in him, assuaging some of his guilt.

 

You'd eaten the fries.

 

He didn't know why, but that made him feel a bit better about himself.

 

He looked at you again then at the bed. You looked scared. But he was here. Should he...?

 

He didn't want to admit that he was tempted.

 

He should probably try to come in you. At least once a day.

 

(Who would _know?_ )

 

You felt good.

 

You felt _remarkably_ good.

 

He was debating whether or not to drag you to the bed and hold you down when you managed to voice out an awkward yet hopefully friendly “Good morning.”

 

And Sans... He **hadn't** been expecting that. He freaked out. And suddenly he was anxious again, and terrified, and guilty...

 

“ **don't talk to me.** ” He shouldn't have yelled that.

 

You flinched. Withdrew more into yourself, hands over yourself like a flimsy shield. And _shit_...

 

He pointed to the food on the bed and told you to “ **eat**.”

 

He picked up the trash can from your prison and disappeared.

 


	7. No one would know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the delay for this!!! I'll try to make more room in my life to write. 
> 
> Also, thank you all so much for all the comments, bookmarks and kudos! They mean a lot for someone like me, who's just trying to learn how to write porn. xD If you'd like to see any kinks or prompts in this fic or in others, please feel free to request! I just want to write smut!! (Practice, practice, practice...)

Sans' mind raced and his bones shook. He couldn't get your words out of his mind. He'd almost raped you. He'd almost done it but then...

 

(“Good morning.”)

 

Why had you talked?? He tried to shake the memory of your words away.

 

Your voice was as warm as it was melodic. Soft and pleasant, so different from your screams. There had been a tremor of uncertainty, your voice had slightly wavered, and yet you had almost sounded... Friendly. Kind, towards him. It was a part of you that he hadn't been expecting.

 

He'd _hated_ it. He'd hated that you'd talked, and how you spoke. Now he understood why Alphys had suggested he insist on not letting you talk to him. It was one thing to do something like _this_ to a random non-monster, and something entirely different to do it to... to _someone_. Someone who...

 

Someone who'd said “Good morning”. Why had that bothered him about you as much as it had? Why couldn't you just shut up. Stay quiet. Just let him do his thing and be done with it.

 

He felt so _trapped_.

 

(“Good morning.”) The sound of your voice as the words left your lips was alluring and terrifying.

 

(“Good morning.”) What would you have done if he had greeted you back?

 

(“Good morning...”)

 

It didn't feel right to go to work after what had almost happened with you, although he conceded that might just be an excuse for him to be lazy. Still, the thought of simply waiting around until it was time to feed you again carried with it the potential of driving him insane. He still made himself comfortable though, easy as it was, back on his bed. Tried to fall asleep as he wondered what you were doing right now. Tossed around the bed a bit. Wondered if you'd eaten the cinnamon bunny.

 

What should he bring you next, if you had liked that? Hot dogs? Maybe a hot cat... Frisk had always laughed at those. You weren't Frisk.

 

He wondered if he could make you laugh, though, and what your laughter might sound like. He quickly suppressed the thought. It wasn't his job to make you laugh. It was your job to freaking do things to you.

 

He wondered if you would feel just as good under him, the next time he had to...

 

He quickly gave up on sleep.

 

 

 

You, meanwhile, were wide awake. You didn't know what time it was, or how long it had been since the skeleton vanished. It disturbed you so much that he could do that, simply pop in and out of existence, the dread and anxiety settling like nausea as you couldn't help but wonder at and obsess about the next time the monster would come.

 

It was a very small comfort to you to know that the shard of ceramic was still there under the mattress, but you'd take it.

 

You had one way out, as anxious as the possibility was starting to make you feel. You at least had one way out. Now it was time to find another one.

 

You paced, again, around your small prison. Taking in every single tile and every concrete corner. You'd tried the locked door often, several times an hour. You had no windows.

 

You had no sheets, no change of clothes, no books, no furniture other than the bed, no towels other than your small one.

 

There was nothing to do. There was no one to talk to. Eventually, you gave in and ate the cold noodles, more out of boredom than anything else.

 

The bunny-shaped cinnamon roll had been eaten what now felt like a long time ago. That had tasted good, far better than the usual bland fare. You wondered if the recent additions to your diet had anything to do with the change in the monster who had been providing it.

 

You shuddered at the thought. As much as you had once disliked rejecting anybody, you didn't like the idea of owing anything to the monster who had held you down and sexually assaulted you twice.

 

You didn't like him. You didn't like anything about the skeleton. His mere presence gave you chills, drowning you in a nauseating anxiety as every fiber in your being shouted at you, reminding you of what he was there to do. You knew perfectly well that he was inclined to kill you. You'd heard perfectly well what he agreed to do instead. You still felt his semen between your thighs, gross and inhumanly thick, sticking to you and etched into your memory no matter how much you had scrubbed...

 

His magic held you down. His hand muffled your screams. You knew perfectly well what he could do. He wasn't nice. You didn't like him.

 

You didn't know where your vocal chords had found the awkward “Good morning”, an echo of the person you had been long ago. Before you'd fallen here, before you'd been captured, you would have given any enemy the benefit of the doubt. Insisted on being kind. Tried to at least remain pleasant.

 

This wasn't the surface.

 

A part of you thought—a part of you insisted on thinking—that you shouldn't give up on the possibility of attacking the skeleton. Experience spoke otherwise. Not for the first time, you wished you were different—braver, stronger. Your unwavering kindness had given you trouble before—the memory of you spending extra on humane mouse traps when you barely had enough to eat came to mind—but never like _this_.

 

Why were you so... Like _this?_

 

You'd had a shot at seeing your friends and family again and you'd blown it just because you couldn't bring yourself to hurt a stupid skeleton.

 

Your mind wandered back to the broken plate. Maybe you should just _end_ _it_. You were hopeless. You couldn't survive this. You tried the locked door again, getting progressively anxious as you tried to pace. It had been too long since the monster had been here. Hadn't it? You didn't know. You didn't know how much time had passed. You didn't even know what day it was, or if it was day, or if it was even the same _year_...

 

You turned around to inspect the tiles closest to your shower again when you saw the figure and it made you scream and jump.

 

The skeleton was back. _He wasn't looking at you._

 

He had _no food_.

 

You took a step back, and immediately your back met the door. You felt cornered. You still tried to move further away. “No...”

 

He didn't look at you. Not once. And when you spoke, something in him faltered, quickly covered by anger at you and resentment and

 

Disgust. His gaze hardened. Staring at the wall and way from you as he pointed to the bed and “ **bed**.” Breath ragged. Soul pounding. He wanted to tell himself he was disgusted by the idea of doing this to you again. He was. He _was_. It wasn't disgust at the chill down his spine, caused by unwanted excitement; the way your voice felt like music; the feeling of magic, too eager, pooling in his pelvis...

 

He didn't want this. He didn't. And you were horrified.

 

Was he expecting you to _walk_ to the bed where he'd rape you?

 

You didn't move, too numb by shock and anxious horror to even register your lack of compliance as defiance. You couldn't move. Your legs felt impossibly weak.

 

Sans didn't want to look at you.

 

He didn't even know what he was doing, or why he had even come here at all. He'd given up on sleeping, thoughts consumed by you, tempting and maddening and full of guilt. He'd replayed your voice in his head over and over again. He'd never admit to know _why_. And maybe he'd just come to you because he wanted to hear your voice again.

 

Hear you beg. Beg for _what_? Did it matter?

 

You were his, essentially. You'd be given to him. Who would _know_ what he did to you. Who would _care_ , if he...

 

His cock hardened, manifesting itself under his shorts with a faint glowing blue. He felt momentarily ashamed before checking himself. He coldly reminded himself that it didn't matter.

 

It was just _you_ , after all. He was tired of feeling guilty.

 

When you didn't move, he tried again, bolder and firmer in his harshness. “ _ **bed**_ _,_ human.”

 

Something in you broke. You had a name, didn't you? Nobody called you by your name. “I can't,” you told him, and then for some reason your mind wandered, you remembered when you'd first heard him, and he had a name too, didn't he? “I can't”—your thoughts raced, trying to recollect the entirety of the memory—“I can't—” He had a name, what _was_ it? “I can't... _Sans?_ I...”

 

You shouldn't have said the name, not even in a whisper.

 

He was r i g h t i n f r o n t o f y o u.

 

“you **didn't** say that,” he told you, voice threatening and chillingly devoid of emotion. A scream died in your throat as your heart raced, and his hand was on your hair, pulling d o w n.

 

He forced you to look into empty eye sockets, pitch black and unnaturally devoid of all light. Heart pounding, you couldn't struggle. Couldn't move. Couldn't _breathe_.

 

“you don't say my name. **ever**.” Fake calmness laced with venom. His grip on your hair tightened. Your scalp burned. “you don't get to speak. you don't get to make **a single noise**. You...”

 

He pulled you down by your hair. You shrieked. He was expecting you to shriek, he thought he was ready, thought he could be _mean_... He was _so turned on_.

 

You were on the floor and he was on top of you. He wasn't ready for your screams after all. He covered your mouth with his hand, pressed your head down against the tiled floor. Pulled your panties to the side, pulled out his cock...

 

Alarm bells in his head and he was **far too into this**.

 

Shit... He didn't _have_ to do this. Nobody was watching him. He didn't _have_ to perform. Nobody knew what he did to you or didn't do. Nobody knew...

 

You looked so frightened. Your skin was soft. And he hadn't really paused to notice until now how pretty you were.

 

Nobody knew what he did to you or didn't do.

 

He could... Free you. Kiss you. Fuck you. Starve you. _Anything_.

 

If he wanted to fuck you... If he wanted to... do worse than just jack off into you...

 

Your hands, small and trembling, found his on before he even realized he hadn't paralyzed you with his magic. He almost summoned a bone to pierce through your skull, mind temporarily panicking at the thought of your true strength as a human, but you just held the hand he had over your mouth in both of yours and gently tugged.

 

He had the _nasty_ feeling that, if he met your eyes just then, you'd be imploring for mercy with them.

 

He was on top of you. You weren't fighting. And he was turned on, he kind of wanted to... Fuck you. No one would know if you did.

 

It was probably _best_ , even, if he did.

 

Nobody would _know_ , either way, what he did to you or didn't do. Nobody was watching. Nobody else would ever come here. And you weren't fighting him...

 

He didn't realize what he was doing as he adjusted himself on top of you until he'd pulled your panties off with his free hand and put them in his pocket. Your grip on the skeletal hand covering your mouth tightened, but you didn't dare to let out even the softest whine.

 

Your lack of resistance only encouraged him.

 

He wanted to feel you. Touch you. He'd never looked at you properly before. Selfishly, Sans told himself that if he was expected to come in you he might as well enjoy it. The rational part of him screamed that he shouldn't enjoy it. He paid no mind to it.

 

He pushed your gown up and took in a sharp breath.

 

You were fleshier than he had expected, vague theories of humans and skeletons having a similar anatomy giving him the wrong image in his head. There were hints of bone in you, if he looked hard enough, but overall you were...

 

Soft. Warm. Strangely inviting, and he trailed his coarse hand from the side of your hips up to your waist and took you in.

 

He should really stop this. Just jack off and be done.

 

He didn't want to stop.

 

You squirmed once and he became bolder, moving his hand from your waist to the front of you and continuing to move up up until exposing your breasts. Your anatomy wasn't much different from some of the monster females, yet he was instantly drawn to your chest—soft and squishy and perfect in his hand.

 

You were more than he would have deserved, probably, if he had met you at a bar and asked to do this _nicely_.

 

Stars, what was he thinking...

 

He knew nothing about you and yet he wanted to kiss you, fighting the urge even as he groped your breasts. A kiss would be too personal. It would be worse than a fuck. He wouldn't kiss you. Ever.

 

He wouldn't fuck you.

 

And yet he resumed his leisurely exploration of you, attempting to memorize your skin almost entirely by touch. He pointedly refused to look at your face, afraid to meet your eyes and lose his nerve, and that thought alone should have made him stop...

  
Reconsider.

 

He was going too far.

 

But nobody would know what happened here or what he did or didn't do.

 

He wasn't going to fuck you. He just wanted to have a look... at what was his. _You_ were his.

 

The sheer amount of power he'd had over you was intoxicating. He'd never been this in control before. And he found that he liked it, he liked it too much. You were such a good human, you weren't even struggling. Sometimes you'd wriggle or made a weak attempt to push him off, but you weren't exactly fighting him.

 

Such a good human. Such a good girl. _Stars_. _Fuck_. You were _perfect_.

 

You were _so afraid of him_.

 

He moved his hand down your chest and stomach, touching every bit of you that he could, before settling just in between your thighs. The illusion broke. You started struggling harder, terrified.

 

He held you down with his magic. Too simple. Too easy. Good girl...

 

Pushed your thighs apart with his knee and spread your cunt for him with the hand that wasn't holding you down, _hard_ now, pressing tightly against your mouth.

 

If you wanted to scream, you couldn't. And if he'd looked at you, then, he'd seen your eyes were closed shut.

 

Sans' attention though was on your cunt, mesmerizing and inviting and previously full of his come. His cock twitched at the thought. He wanted nothing more than to push himself in...

 

He let go of your mouth to touch himself, grip firm against his shaft. And when he warned you, “make a single noise and i'll fuck you,” he kind of really, _really_ wished you'd scream.

 

You didn't, holding your breath, keeping your eyes shut and anxiously determined not to let out a single whimper.

 

Good girl. Too good. He'd reward you by keeping his cock out of you.

 

He began to stroke his member, soft and slow and at a leisurely pace. It was the first time that he had actually allowed himself to enjoy any of this, letting his hand explore your thighs briefly before spreading your lips apart to expose even more of you to him.

 

You looked like you'd be pleasantly tight, the size of your cunt slightly smaller than he was used to with other monsters. Then again, everything about you was small in comparison to monsters—from your pretty face to your delicate hands to your warm, inviting lips.

 

He wanted you on his cock. Or maybe that was just his arousal talking. No... He _definitely_ wanted you on his cock, writhing and shouting and screaming for him.

 

His pace quickened. His grip on his cock tightened. And you almost screamed but managed to catch yourself as he started inserting a single finger into your cunt.

 

He almost immediately met resistance, but kept going, forcing his middle finger into you until he no longer could, up to the start of his proximal phalanges. You _were_ tight (and dry, but his mind quickly went to how much wetter you'd feel with his come in you).

 

The thought crossed his mind that you might be a virgin and he wondered for the first time if you _were._ He didn't know, for _sure_ , if he ever wanted to know the answers. He didn't even know how old you were, or what you name was.

 

All he knew at this point was that he was hopelessly turned on. Began stroking himself more forcefully. Started playing with you, wriggling his finger in you, hoping that you'd scream or otherwise protest so that he could stick his dick in you.

 

You didn't. Such a good human. _Fuck_... He wanted to fuck you. Wanted to break you. Kiss you. Hear you say his name...

 

(“ _Sans_...”) You'd called him _Sans_.

 

You'd bit your lip but he didn't see it, the lights in his eye sockets fixed between your thighs. And as he tried to bring himself to orgasm, strokes now hard and fast and frenetic, you tried to focus on not breathing.

 

You held your breath. Tried to ignore the skeleton's finger in you. But disgust was slowly turning into unwanted warmth, you didn't want this...

 

The skeleton monster abruptly pulled his finger out of you before quickly replacing it with something else. You almost screamed, then, so sure he was going to enter you. But the head of him pressed instead firmly against your opening, and you knew what was coming before you even felt it.

 

Dread. Helplessness. And then an explosion of warmth and a hot liquid, gross and uncomfortable and entirely unwanted. You heard him groan with unrestrained pleasure as he spilled himself into you, your mind momentarily moving to the broken plate, but then with the shower with great urgency.

 

You needed to wash this off.

 

You _needed_ to wash this off.

 

You had to... You needed to... _Gross_...

 

His groans turned into pants and gasps as he caught his breath, slowly pulling his dick away from you in a way that felt too hesitant. A thick trail of come connected him to your cunt, turning him on despite being spent. An air of smug pride filled him at the thought of his sperm inside of you, but for a split second, before the cold reality of what he had done settled in him.

 

He'd almost fucked you. On the floor.

 

Almost. He'd been close...

 

He moved off of you quickly before his thoughts settled on regret. He hadn't noticed, before, how uncomfortable the position was, until he had trouble getting up. His knees ached. _Fuck_ , why hadn't he dragged you to bed...

 

You lay motionless, on the floor, before his magic grabbed you.

 

An flash of cyan filled the room before you shrieked with surprise. You felt again like something was grabbing at your very being, pulling you up and across the room like a rag doll. But when your upper body fell into the bed, this time the magic didn't stop...

 

The lower part of you was suspended into the air, legs slightly parted and extended in a way that felt vulnerable and obscene.

 

You couldn't move. Panicked, your eyes searched for the monster across the room before finding him right in front of you.

 

The lights in his eye sockets had gone back to normal, if a bit dim for reasons you couldn't yet understand. He had no qualms with looking straight at you, then, something about his gaze feeling hard and stern.

 

“you talk, you get punished,” he told you, and suddenly the reality of what his punishment was settled in. His hand went back to your exposed slit, a coarse index finger moving to drag a lose trail of his come and push it back into you. The action might have even felt lazy and impersonal, had it not been for the way his finger lingered inside of you, his attention sharped and focused with a trace of lingering lust and unsatiated hunger.

 

He was going to _keep you like this_ , bottom-up against gravity, until your body absorbed the filth he'd ejaculated in you or god knows what. Or worse.

 

Every fiber of your being began to scream and panic by the way he was still looking at you, suddenly afraid that he wasn't done.

 

He wasn't. He spread your legs apart...

 

Blue come between your thighs, faintly glowing, inside of you. _His_ come. _His_ cunt. _Stars_... Once was enough, but...

 

He didn't know how he found the strength to just leave you like that, as inviting as you looked and vulnerable.

 

He could choose to do so much more to you. He didn't... He didn't want to. Did he? Just once was enough. But who else would _know_?

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, it's been months. I was totally not expecting that. Sorry!!!
> 
> This chapter is more SFW than most. Couldn't help that. I had to write most of this among (gasp) people and I think it shows.

Sans kept his eye sockets shut tight, still intoxicated by the memory of you as he furiously pumped his shaft working towards a second release.

 

He knew fully well that he wasn't supposed to be doing this. He wasn't supposed to have punished you either. But by the stars—the memory of you lying helpless and motionless on that bed, legs spread wide for him to admire your tight cunt dripping with his cum as you lay there.. It was more than he could have taken in without working himself up to a second orgasm, hiding now in the privacy of his room and away from you as he contemplated what he had done with a mix of arousal and guilty excitement.

  
He had felt so powerful, touching you like he had. Taking the time to _take_ and enjoy what had been given to him. Sans wasn't used to feeling anything much other than powerless. Their reports had often hinted as much, and yet with _you_...

  
With _you_ , he had full control didn't he. He chose when and what you ate, when you moved, if you lived...

  
If you got fucked.

  
His grip around himself tightened and his dick twitched at the memory of his digit wrapped inside your cunt. You'd felt so unbelievably tight, so pleasantly warm. Never before had he gotten the chance to just _do_ this to someone without first having to work his charms really, really hard...

  
There was no need to woo you first, was there. No need for foreplay. No having to try his best jokes and cross his fingers hoping he'd get lucky, hoping for the best...

  
If he got horny, he could _in theory_ just spread your legs whenever.

  
He wouldn't do it. He was just trying to impregnate you. But _stars_...

  
The thought alone just really, _really_ turned him—

  
"Sans!!!" There was a loud knock on the door that forced him to jolt out of bed, the magic of his hard-on dissipating in a blast of blue light as Sans probably made history as the first skeleton to suffer a heart attack. The knocking on the door intensified, and “Open The Door, Lazybones!”

 

Something in him died.

 

 

 

 

 

The texture of the ceiling was rough.

 

The floor and the walls that surrounded you, they were all gray tile. Gray and bleak just as you felt. The tiles were slightly glossy, cold and smooth. Unlike the ceiling.

 

The ceiling of the room was rough, gray concrete. The texture of the ceiling was rough.

 

You were forced to focus on it as yet another _disgusting_ glob of thick, viscous sludge began to ooze uncomfortably out of you. You told yourself stubbornly that you did not to know what it was. Maybe your mind had snapped and you were hallucinating, feeling things that weren't really _there_ due to the lack of sensory stimulation. Maybe you were crazy.

 

The thick, almost gelatinous substance that left you, previously almost unbearably hot, was cooling.

 

…

 

The... The texture of the ceiling was rough.

 

You had probably been staring at it for far longer than it felt.

 

The entirety of your lower body felt like it was covered in pinpricks. Your legs had gone numb a while ago, forced to remain motionless and up in the air held by a force you couldn't even _feel_. The way you had been positioned was so uncomfortable: legs up and spread wide, the lower part of your torso almost perpendicular to the ceiling. You were completely unable to move, forced to remain motionless despite not feeling any form of physical restraint... It was almost as if your entire body had been frozen in time. _Almost_.

 

You could still feel everything, and the feeling of it was incredibly claustrophobic and uncomfortable and _maddening_.

 

This was _unbearable_.

 

You tried to free yourself again to no avail. Every time you attempted it, another tiny speck of hope in you died. You didn't even know why you _tried_ anymore, forced by magic like this, being tortured,

 

taking punishment.

 

The memory of the broken plate was now a distant memory. The shard that held your freedom was just under the mattress, but it might as well have been in the moon.

 

You couldn't get to it. You couldn't die anymore. And maybe you just deserved this, for being such a stupid coward. For being unable to save yourself, you stupid, _stupid_ —

 

Another glob of now cold, congealing sperm.

 

You shuddered. And cried.

 

And a part of you was sure you would die here.

 

 

 

 

 

Sans picked at his steaming plate of partially raw, undercooked spaghetti. The edges of it were burnt to a crisp thanks to Papyrus' overenthusiastic, frenzied cooking.

 

“And Then I Told Snowdrake That There Was No Need To Fight. Dogamy Was Just Having A Rough Day, But I Still Thought His Jokes Were Funny,” Papyrus said, a hint of tiredness in his voice before he frowned slightly. “...I Do Hope I Never Have To Lie Like That Again.”

 

“nice, bro,” Sans found himself saying. His mind kept wandering to you... He wasn't originally supposed to have kept you held up and punished for this long. He discreetly checked the clock on his phone, anxiety rising when he noticed how late it was. Shit, did you need to use the bathroom?

 

Were you cold...?

 

Were you supposed to eat?

 

“sounds like you handled that like a pro. tell you what, how 'bout we celebrate that by hitting the hay early...”  
  
“Sans, I Did Not Imagine People Would Be This Unhappy When I Joined The Royal Guard.”

 

Sans inwardly flinched, and there it was. Papyrus' unhappiness, until just recently Sans' worst and only fear, was manifesting itself in front of him. Of course Papyrus wouldn't be happy as a Royal Guard. He was too pure, too good for the job. The weight of facing his towns unhappiness was slowly destroying him.

 

Sans had been readying himself for this moment for years. Had thought out and planned exactly what he would say, and how he would say it. He should be giving Papyrus now a talk that would end with Paps thinking it had been his idea to quit the Royal Guard, he should be cheering on his brother, encouraging him to find a different passion.

 

And yet, right now with you stuck on the bed, Sans _really_ needed to...

 

“I Don't Know How I Can Help Them, Sans,” Papyrus confessed, sounding deeply concerned. There was defeat in his voice, and frustration. “Ever Since The Human Left... Sans, You Know I Am Their Best Friend. I Still Believe They Will Come Back And Fix Things, But...”

 

Shit, it's been fifty years.

 

And Sans still didn't know if it was better to rip that hope from Papyrus or if it was truly better to just watch it be painfully extinguished out of him.

 

“paps, i gotta go,” Sans pleaded, voice hoarse and reluctant as he wallowed in the shame of this particular let down. He _really_ had to go, what if you _died_ — “i'm really sorry, bro, i... i kinda have a date waiting at grillby's.”

 

“Oh,” was all Papyrus said, maybe trying but failing to hide his thick disappointment. Sans didn't know what he was doing. You needed food. His plate was inedible...

 

He randomly grabbed a bottle of ketchup. After a second thought, put his spaghetti on a paper plate.

 

“gonna take the rest of this to go, ok?” he said, squirting what he thought was a decent amount of ketchup into the plate, on top of the pasta. The... The plate was shaking. He felt like utter shit. “i'm... uh, i'm trying to eat healthy.”  
  
“Finally, Brother?” Papyrus looked at least a little hopeful at that “Oh, That Is At Least A Relief. I'm So Glad...”

 

Sans paused. His eyes met his brother's.

 

He couldn't leave him like this.

 

He couldn't leave _you_ like that.

 

But...

 

“yeah, noticed i've been getting a bit stocky,” Sans said. “so i went to the paint store to see if they could help out.”

 

“The Paint Store? What...”

 

“i heard you could get _thinner_ there,” Sans said, and Papyrus _exploded_.

 

“SANS!!! ARGH! I SAID NOT IN THIS HOUSE—”

 

Sans winked as he walked out of the kitchen and then he promptly disappeared.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't stop myself from writing a Sad Papyrus for this somewhere, sorry.
> 
> Things are a little unpredictable right now but I WILL
> 
> A) Finish this. This story shouldn't be that long. (C'mon, Sans, just get it in.)
> 
> B) Probably have the next update at aaaany time between tomorrow and the beginning of December, depending on how things go. Sorry!!!


End file.
